


Full Service

by straylize



Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Maids, Romance, pegokita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: Tired after a long afternoon in the Metaverse, Akira calls on the maid service to relax. Little does he know that tonight's full-service maid isn't quite who he expects to see.





	Full Service

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [full service maid](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/372696) by NemiruTami. 



_Thud. Thud. Thud._

 

Every footstep was heavy like lead. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed—no matter how often Akira ventured into the Metaverse with the Phantom Thieves, exiting back to reality always left him with a daunting sense of exhaustion. Behind the plastic lenses of his glasses, his eyelids felt heavy; his body was sore and tense, like an oppressive force was constricting him and doing its damndest to weigh him down. But his mind, fogged as it was, still raced with thoughts of the things that needed to be done. Confidants to see, skills to improve, part-time jobs to attend. There really wasn’t a such thing as time to be wasted; every moment could be used to accomplish _something_ toward his goals. But what Akira found was that on nights like this, there was hardly any hope of being productive, not without some rest.

Or, at the very least, a good massage.

As he trudged towards Leblanc, he weighed his options in his head. Calling Kawakami would be no good—it was her night off, after all, and though he knew she was willing to give him a hand even outside of her working hours, it wasn’t ideal. She needed a break sometimes, too, after all. And besides that… it was still a bit awkward for him to get massages from his teacher when there was also someone else his heart was after. But what else could he really do? If he wanted to get anything else done this evening without immediately crashing when he his head hit the pillow, he’d have to do something. Something, something…

Tiredly, he pushed the door open, alerting Sojiro to his presence by way of the bells on the door chiming. A greeting offered to an audience of one, responded to with a quiet wave of the hand, and then met with silence. With the greetings out of the way, Sojiro returned to cleaning empty plates of curry, Akira was left to decide his next move. In front of the phone he stood, the bright yellow hue blinding and almost painful to his tired eyes. With a heaved sigh, he raised a hand to his chin in contemplation.

_‘Should I call?’_

The question was one not spoken aloud, only thought in silence as he weighed his options with more finality. He could call and request a different maid, knowing ‘Becky’ wouldn’t be in—or he could give up the ghost and just get some sleep. Would it even be worth his time, to meet with a near stranger in the hopes that if nothing else, some things could be done in his room to take some of the pressure off of caring for himself properly tonight?

“Hm…” Finally, he emitted a sound, one of contemplation as he made the final consideration; it went ignored by Sojiro as he tended to closing up the café for the night. There was nothing to lose, Akira supposed. It would still be a mutually beneficial situation, one where the maid in question would receive their payment, and Akira himself could have some of his tension and pressure eased; if he was lucky, he’d feel refreshed enough to handle some other matters before succumbing to sleep for the night. So with his decision made, he picked up the phone and dialed that familiar number. The exchange was similar as ever, with Akira able to easily navigate making a request for a maid. On the other end of the phone came a giggle, which only prompted Akira to hum quizzically—nothing like that had ever happened in his previous calls.

“You’re one of Becky’s regulars, right?” The maid on the other end sounded bubbly and enthused on the other end of the phone, seemingly able to recognize Akira by his voice. That in itself prompted a thoughtful frown and a quick consideration that perhaps he should request Kawakami a _little_ less often, even if a number of those times had been solely because she was taking care of his laundry while he was out at part-time jobs. Still, the girl barreled forward, much like a pushy salesman with a product she would be making a commission on. “We have a new recruit that I think would be perfect for you!  I think _she’ll_ be more comfortable with a regular as she gets into the swing of things. She’s cute, in that quiet and mature kind of way!”

It didn’t matter, he thought. Akira wasn’t sure if she was trying to appeal to his apparent penchant for older women, given that they both knew that Kawakami was quite a bit older than what was normal for a maid service like theirs—or if they were just trying to pawn off a newbie on him because they’d be getting his business _anyway_ when Kawakami was working. But much like the first time he called the number, he didn’t have any sort of preference. Right now? He was far more interested in just trying to stay awake right now.

“Sure,” He offered in response, tone as quiet and unassuming as it usually was in his day-to-day life. “That’s fine with me.”

“Great! Her name’s Minty, I can send her your way in about a half-hour!”

Akira offered his thanks and affirmation of both the timeline and the costs before hanging up the phone. Sojiro offered a gruff reminder that he’d be leaving soon and would lock up, which Akira waved off easily as his lead footsteps trudged up the stairs with that same thudding that carried him from Shibuya straight back to Yongen-Jaya. Morgana was quick to exit his school bag and curl up to get some rest for himself, and Akira flopped back on his bed, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

“Minty, huh…” He couldn’t deny that he was a bit curious. Barring a few trips to Akihabara’s maid cafe, Akira didn’t have experience with any other maids; would her expectations be different? His circumstances with Kawakami were a bit special, after all, given the nature of her being his homeroom teacher, among other things. But this would be a new maid, with no strings attached, and from what he could gather, a lack of experience. Maybe it was better that he was helping a new maid; tired as he was, he could at least treat her with a bit of respect and help her feel comfortable as she tried to navigate it, right? Well, maybe. He supposed he didn’t really know how intense things can get with the other customers, or what sort of expectations a maid even _had_ in that situation.

He’d find out though soon enough, wouldn’t he? Until then, he’d just have to wait—something easy enough for him to do. With at least another twenty minutes before he’d have to be downstairs to let the maid in, he could rest his tired eyes. So he did, letting them flutter closed and drifting into a faint cat-nap in the interim.

 

* * *

  
_Knock._

_Knock, knock._

**_Knock, knock, knock._ **

 

Minty banged the side of a fist on the door, and let out a heavy sight at the “Closed” sign that was pointed outward. The café was dark, of course, it was well past the time that Sojiro usually left for the night. And yet, it was no surprise at all to the maid sent forth by the company to meet this _mysterious_ customer. Minty was well aware of Café Leblanc, though. And Minty was also very well aware of the person who lived in the attic of the café. There were really only two things to question about this situation: _“Why did it have to be this place for the first job?”_ and _“Did Akira really request a maid?”_

The second question was far easier to ask than the first, though. Because after enough banging on the door, Minty could see the shadowed form of Akira’s tall, lanky figure emerging from the back, where the staircase was. His arms were outstretched over his head, and he appeared to be shuffling toward the door.

 _‘Was he sleeping?’_ Minty wondered briefly, stifling a yawn at the mere thought of it. A nap sounded really good right about then, but the job had to come first. In any case, Minty’s questions were answered the moment the door was pulled open and revealed Akira’s exhausted expression. He looked tense and pale, and absent from his face were the glasses that usually hid the fiery expression that always lingered somewhere in Akira’s gaze. His hair was more disheveled than usual—

Minty’s first thoughts oscillated between _“Maybe he’ll be too tired to notice,”_ _“What happened to Akira?”_ and _“He’s kind of cute like this.”_

Cute, in that kouhai sort of way, of course.

Right.

There was work to be done, so before Akira could fully process anything besides swinging the door open, Minty was smiling sweetly and offering a greeting.

“What can I do for you tonight, Master? ♥”

The ruse couldn’t have possibly lasted long, of course. There wasn’t even enough time to get that sentence out before Akira had figured out that the higher-pitched cadence of Minty’s voice was feigned—and that “Minty” wasn’t all she seemed to be. But of course, that in itself left Akira staring a bit blankly at that forced smile. His senses were far too keen to not recognize the face that stood before him; even with the fully made-up expression, the maid dress, and the put-on attitude, there was a moment of stunned silence as the truth of the matter sunk in. And when it did? Akira could feel the barest hint of heat rising into his cheeks and ears.

“Minato… senpai…?” The words came from his mouth a bit choked out, and Minato himself, aware the ruse was up, faltered in that sweet expression that seemed almost wrong for his features.

“ _Minty,_ ” Minato reassured, shaking his head as he took a moment to brush past Akira in order to free himself from standing outside in Yongen-Jaya’s dark alleys in this attire. As he did so, though, his hand reached out to grab Akira’s wrist, a gentle tug offered in an attempt to lead him away from the door and toward the staircase. Akira’s only hesitation came from having to close and lock the door—as well as the lingering shock that came from Minato appearing like this, as what appeared to be a legitimate employee of the maid service. Before Akira could question it, though, Minato continued on, tone drier and far less cheery—probably a bit more ironic than anything else, because Minato didn’t quite have it in him to keep on the ridiculous act for Akira, of all people. “I’ll be taking care of you tonight, _Master._ ”

“R… right…” In a moment of being rarely taken off his guard, Akira fumbled over his response, tired, surprised gaze still trained on Minato’s form as he was being led toward his makeshift living space.

 _‘He looks good like this.’_ Akira thought to himself without much consideration. Though Minato wasn’t an effeminate person by any stretch, his natural appearance still had a certain delicate nature to it. It was something about him that Akira never could quite put his finger on, but he’d found himself drawn to it from the moment Minato had first stepped foot into Leblanc with a friend for a cup of coffee. His smaller frame, the clarity of his complexion—but more importantly, the subdued and gentle nature he had beneath an almost uncaring facade—all of it contributed to something inexplicable that Akira couldn’t help but be attracted to. Even at this moment, he realized, Minato was still taking the initiative to look after him, even though Akira himself hadn’t even shared what sort of “service” he was looking for tonight. Minato’s hands were cooler than Akira’s skin, somehow soothing and gentle as he pulled Akira along, and even though the silence felt a bit awkward thanks to Akira’s inability to fully process things in his tired state, it felt very warming, somehow.

Minato, for his part, had no idea of these thoughts. There wasn’t any way he could imagine specifically what Akira was thinking; with his expression away from Akira’s for the moment, it was a little easier for him to admit his own cheeks were flushed just from seeing the reaction his appearance had drawn. Minato really had no interest in this maid service business, after all; he was filling in for a friend as a favor, with the promise of a few thousand extra yen thrown in for his efforts. He had no idea what he’d end up doing when he agreed, and frankly? Much as he could rock the look, it was a bit embarrassing for him to have to present himself this way to someone he knew—and someone he believed looked up to him like a senpai, at that.

All of that seemed to be thrown into chaos by Akira, though, even though Minato couldn’t deny to himself that it was something unsurprising. Up until this point, Akira had been unaware of Minato’s exploits as a Persona-user; there simply hadn’t been a need to bring it up, or a need to cause Akira undue worry. They both had plenty on their plates to deal with, and Minato was capable of taking care of himself without it. On the other hand, Minato was wholly aware of Akira’s status as a Phantom Thief—hardly because of offered information, but solely because for all that Akira tried, he wasn’t very good at being subtle at all. It didn’t take a keen eye to figure out that the close connections the Phantom Thieves’ targets had to Akira and his friends made for pretty prime suspects, even if the other adults had been too blind to see it. That, along with Mitsuru and the Kirijo Group’s ability to track Shadow activity made it quite plainly clear in a way that couldn’t be denied.

And that was okay. Minato was absolutely fine with keeping his mouth shut and letting Akira come into his own as a Persona-user and a Phantom Thief; he would be ready if something dire were to happen. In the meanwhile, he could guide Akira in his own quiet way and support him. Akira was a reckless sort; even without knowing the full scope of what he was doing as a Phantom Thief, Minato was well aware of it. The stories that had made their way to the news, the unfounded rumors that floated around Tokyo, and most importantly, the way Akira carried himself gave evidence of that quite often. There were evenings when Akira would walk into Leblanc looking harried, days where he seemed distracted, and times when Minato could spot scrapes and bruises that even the strongest Diarahan wouldn’t be able to clean up completely. He supposed it was part of the lives they led, but it was obvious, too, that Akira really didn’t put that much effort into self-care.

So Minato was just going to have to do that for him. It was plainly clear that Akira had pushed himself to his limit; he could see the tension and the soreness, as well as the exhaustion that lined his features—Akira needed it. So maybe, embarrassing as it had been to don a stupid maid costume and pretend like he could really do this, that it had benefits of its own. Minato wasn’t one to believe much in that sort of fate, but if he could help a friend, a Social Link? He could hardly find a reason to complain about it.

“Bed,” Minato instructed with ease once they’d made it up the stairs, which only prompted Akira to give him a bit of a baffled look. Minato’s expression didn’t falter, though; his gaze was serious and somewhat authoritative in a way that Akira wasn’t used to—and one that betrayed the demure, submissive image that maids were supposed to put forward. Yet still, Minato’s words _did_ seem to continue on with the theme, even if his tone betrayed those words pretty wholly. “My Master is so tense. You need to relax.”

Akira could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight on their ends at those words; though Akira was absolutely sure this was Minato just doing his job, it was impossible to deny there was something incredibly attractive about it to him. He wasn’t sure if it was solely because he was attracted to Minato already, or if it was that subdued authority to his tone, but Akira found that he _wanted_ to submit to it. He wanted to see what Minato would do. It was a side of Minato he hadn’t seen, and that curiosity, well—

Maybe everyone else was right when they said that Akira was pretty cat-like, because the curiosity might have killed him if he refused.

“So I don’t get a say in this?” Akira’s response was a bit cheeky; Minato loosened his grip on Akira’s wrist, which allowed him to flop back onto the bed once more. He looked to Minato from that spot on the bed, unbothered by the demands. “I haven’t even told you what I need.”

“No choice,” Minato replied with a shrug. Expression still flat, he took a few more steps toward the bed. “I’m very demanding about caring for my Master. Roll over.”

Demanding, he certainly was. With each passing moment, with each authoritative demand that Minato made, Akira found more and more that he was willing to comply—and comply without questioning it. Naturally, there was a level of trust that existed between them already, enough so that Akira had no reason to feel as if Minato would abuse that, doubly so because he _was_ legitimately working, as well. So without argument, Akira hummed a response as he rolled onto his stomach.

...Which wasn’t without issues of its own. Akira grimaced a bit, feeling the soreness in his muscles and he had to bite back a sound of discomfort. Minato could see it too, the way Akira’s entire body tensed from such a simple movement. It was fine, though, he thought, since he would be taking care of it momentarily. And that was why without warning, after a long moment, Akira was able to feel the movement of the mattress, followed by a sizeable weight over him. Though a bit more difficult in the maid dress, Minato climbed onto the bed, straddling over Akira’s lower back. He leaned in as he pressed his palms over tense shoulder blades to apply some pressure.

“You’re tense.” Minato noted quietly. His fingers were hardly as deft as he knew Akira’s to be from observation; he’d never really given a massage, either, but he had to try. If nothing else, Akira carried a sort of tension that Minato understood well from his own dungeon-crawling exploits. If he used that knowledge and the right amount of care, he could help.

What Akira noticed, was that it was all Minato said on the matter. Most would question what a kid like him was so tense about, what he could have even done to have his body in this shape. But Minato didn’t question it. He pointed out the facts, and fell quiet—far more like the Minato he’s always known than some artificial maid persona meant to titillate. Not that it was a bad thing in either case, but Minato acting like _himself_ was always going to be preferable to something that felt fake.

“Mm,” Akira hummed. Truthfully, if Minato’s hands were inexperienced in massages, Akira was none the wiser to it. Maybe it was because Kawakami’s, while good, were very intense to the point of painful; Minato’s touch, on the other hand, was firm but still gentle. It was soothing enough that Akira hummed out a few breaths before even trying to make up an unnecessary excuse as to why he was this tense. “I pushed myself too hard with a workout. It’s fine.”

 _It’s fine_ , famous last words of Akira Kurusu, used often to deflect the fact that things weren’t actually fine at all. Minato’s expression contorted a little, aware that Akira was trying to prevent him from worrying needless worrying.

“It’s fine if it’s not fine,” The words came murmured from Minato’s mouth, tone existing somewhere between the quiet frustration of Akira so adamantly making that sort statement to brush it off, and genuine concern that maybe Akira’s recklessness was truly taking too much of a toll on him. “It doesn’t always have to be fine.”

To that, Minato was met with a brief silence, the only sound that escaped Akira’s throat was the smallest hitching of his breath. _It doesn’t always have to be fine._ It was a concept foreign to Akira. Things always had to be fine—he had to be a model student to get past his probation, his fellow Phantom Thieves needed him to be okay to lead the charge. No matter what was happening around him, Akira believed completely in the idea that he needed to be fine.

It was a pretty unrealistic standard to hold himself to, and even Akira himself was aware of that fact, despite his beliefs. But he couldn’t admit that Minato was right, and without a response, he opened up a very massive opportunity to show one of his greatest vulnerabilities.

He wasn’t fine, wasn’t he? During the day, it was a non-issue. He could carry on with his school life with quiet ease so long as he ignores the rumors. He could navigate the Metaverse with a confidence that bordered (and often crossed the line) of cockiness, and he could generally deal with his Confidants and part-time jobs as he learned ways to better his own skills. There were moments like these though. Moments where Akira could feel the strain of his circumstances, moments where the exhaustion seems to seep out through his pores. For Akira, who already struggled well enough with subtlety, it seemed even more apparent to Minato that these things took their toll on him. That the smalls cracks that existed in Akira’s armor _could_ , in fact, show through, despite his best efforts to be whatever it was he needed to be for the Phantom Thieves.

Minato realized it then. He didn’t just _want_ to do something for Akira in order to help him. There was a need that came along with it. It was the sort of feeling he couldn’t define; the instinct was guttural enough that he could have easily attributed it to being a good senpai, or doing his job as a maid.

Instinct took over right then, so whatever the reason was for that need, he was going to have to act on it.

At that moment, Minato hoisted himself up enough to pull his weight off of Akira’s back. With a nudge, he urged Akira to turn over on to his back once more, though he made no effort to crawl away from Minato. And that was when things began to click into place in a way they never had before.

“Minato...?” Akira himself was clearly a bit surprised, because the urging had come with no verbal cues, or seemingly any reason at all. Though he complied easily, the result was… certainly something.

Akira was left face-to-face with Minato in this form. Delicate features hung over him, enhanced by the makeup one of the other maids had clearly applied to face. His hair was tugged back into tiny pigtails, and he wore the maid’s headband. The dress fit his slender form, lace and ruffles abound, and from this angle, Akira could easily glimpse at the frilly thigh-high socks Minato wore, which offered the barest tease of his thighs. Everything about the position they were in was suddenly so provocative, and Akira could feel himself growing flustered because of it. His respect for Minato was too great to pursue anything without knowing Minato’s sincere feelings—so even though he felt so tempted to slide his hands beneath the skirt of that dress, even though he felt a curiosity of what Minato’s lips would feel like against his when they were glossed up, and even though he heart raced with an unfamiliar excitement—there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t unconfident or unwilling, but Minato had never given him any indication of anything beyond being a friend or a senpai; romantic walls were never touched, let alone breached.

So there was nothing he could do, of course, but try to avert his gaze. Though Minato’s eyes bore into him with quiet concern, his own darted to an unfocused point in the room as he drew in a breath and tried to pull himself away from those temptations.

Minato, on the other hand, could read something different at this moment. Though he was aware that Akira used his glasses often to mask his expressions, what he could see in this moment was Akira, through and through. With no glasses to hide his expression, the flush to Akira’s cheeks had a look in his eyes to match it. Minato wasn’t that oblivious, either. He could see a quiet warmth, a wanting, a desire—but also a vulnerability. Akira was always that way, wasn’t he? Always with a barrier up, even when he needed something more, always oddly considerate of other people’s feelings, even if he was willing to savagely honest when it counted for something. Was this what Akira had been hiding? Not just that there were cracks in his confident armor sometimes, but….

“Akira.” Quiet, but firm, Minato finally spoke. Not ‘master,’ but ‘Akira,’ signaling that he was far more serious about what he was thinking than the night had originally started with. The ruse was being broken wholly, even if only for a moment. His hand shifted, bringing it from the spot that held some of his weight off Akira on the mattress to his chin. The touch, while gentle, clasped either side of Akira’s jaw. It was an effort to force that gaze in his direction, allowing their eyes to lock before he spoke another word. “Stop being such a dumbass.”

If there was something else Minato knew about Akira, it was that being honest in turn was the best recourse when necessary. Rather than sugarcoat anything, Minato would say exactly what Akira needed to hear, work etiquette be damned. The response was a quizzical look, which Minato responded to in kind by leaning in closer to Akira, enough so that the tips of their noses nearly touched, and Akira could feel the heat of Minato’s breath over his lips.

There were two things that needed to be said beyond this. One to convey what Minato felt, and one to convey what he knew to be true. So as his hand drew away, finding the mattress once more, but only a fingertip’s length away from where Akira’s hand rested.

“If you’re going to steal my heart, you have to put some effort into it, _Master_.”

For the second time that night, Akira’s breath hitched in his throat. Minato’s intentions were wholly obvious from that statement, and in that moment, Akira knew that he was aware of the situation as it was. But rather than concede easily to it, Akira did one of the things he did best (or so he thought), which was to dance around the topic and never actually confirm it with his own words.

“If anyone’s a Phantom Thief here, it’s you,” Akira offered, all but admitting his own feelings. Maybe he would deny outright that he was a Phantom Thief for now, but he wasn’t the sort to lie about his feelings when it was time to be candid. Minato was cornering him less about that, and far more about his feelings, wasn’t he? To that… he could comply. Akira lifted a hand, placing it at the side of Minato’s neck before closing the minimal gap that existed between them. His lips crashed against Minato’s, stealing a kiss that was strawberry-flavored and sticky from the lip gloss. It was barely innocent, a step above chaste with a nip to Minato’s lower lip. Minato reciprocated with ease, a wash of relief coming over him that if nothing else, Akira’s feelings and body were a bit more honest. This—what he could conclude—would be a way for him to help Akira. This way, he could ease some of that tension, some of that worry…

The thought was cut off by Akira breaking the kiss, a tired, but playful grin on his features. There was a thought to be finished, after all, and Akira wasn’t going to let it slide. “You were the one that stole mine first.”

_Oh._

For some odd reason, Minato hadn’t expected that. Somehow, though the realization was dawning on him that his desire to help Akira was more than that of a friend, a senpai, a Social Link… he didn’t expect Akira’s sentiment. Even with the other realization, that Akira’s vulnerable expressions were because he harbored those feelings, it hadn’t felt entirely real or tangible. An admission like that, though—he had stolen Akira’s heart without even realizing it—was enough to gain an unprecedented reaction from Minato. His heart raced excitedly in his chest, which gave him the odd sensation it would burst from his chest. His cheeks flushed slightly, and while Akira looked on at him with his own flushed cheeks and a pleased grin, Minato found himself averting his gaze in embarrassment. He felt dizzy, a little lightheaded from the overwhelming sensation; he asked for it by provoking Akira, but he wasn’t prepared for how readily Akira would turn it around on him.

The thoughts crawled through his head, they combed his memories of the time he’s known Akira for the signs. Coffees and meals on the house. Accidental brushes of fingers when walking side-by-side, the way Akira would passively inquire about Minato’s love life and what sort of people he was interested in dating. Memory after memory of small, subdued moments that Minato could only conclude were Akira’s attempts at trying to discern his feelings.

He’d been a fool, hadn’t he? He may have already been a Fool, but this had maybe been a bit naive, even for him. It wasn’t as if he’d never dated before, and hardly as if it was the first confession flung his way. But they’d always been far more blatant, and his own feelings a little easier to decipher. This… was new to him, in a way that he wasn’t sure how to navigate. And now, what Minato wanted to do, was make that up to Akira.

So with a breath drawn in, as if to remind himself that he did, in fact, need to breathe, he pushed himself a bit more upright. Akira’s expression was quizzical, but Minato didn’t budge on his choice. His body shifted slightly in order to push himself away from sitting on Akira’s stomach; backward he went, past Akira’s hips and over his groin. He pressed down slightly, offering the slightest amount of friction.

“Let me...:” He started to speak, but the immediate reaction of Akira’s body took Minato by surprise. Even through the delicate panties he was forced to wear with the maid dress, he could feel the fledgling stiffness against him, and his cheeks further flushed—as did Akira’s. It took another breath, a heavy exhale from Minato and a sharp inhale from Akira, before he could finish his statement. “Let me ease some of your tension.”

They were both well aware that this _technically_ was against every rule of the maid service; though things could get pretty provocative, there was a line that was drawn as direct contact like this. But this wasn’t really about the maid service. This wasn’t about anything but Minato and Akira establishing a rapport that stretched well beyond what either of them could have expected when they got their first rank as a bond with one another.

“Ease it… Minato…” Akira offered breathlessly, three words of quiet, intimate consent. Of course, he wanted this—he had for longer than Minato had ever even realized, and he was completely weak to it. A Persona-user with a base of Curse, and one with a base of Bless—Minato was always destined to be Akira’s greatest weakness, and vice versa. There was no way to get around that inability to resist it, so Akira elected not to even try.

With his hips beginning to rock in a slow, rhythmic motion, Minato pressed against Akira with little regard or care for the fact that they were both still fully dressed. Beneath him, he could feel Akira’s cock getting fully hard; in turn, he could feel the tingle as blood rushed away from his head and to his own, oppressively wishing to escape the confines of the tight, lacy panties. The sensations were exacerbated by the way Akira’s hands reached beneath his skirt. Deft fingers toyed with the elastic of his thigh-highs, snapping back healthily against his skin. It seemed to Minato in clouded thought that Akira was still being a bit cautious even in his playfulness; if he was going to ease those tensions, he would need to get Akira to let go completely.

He was okay with this. Surprisingly so, but the feeling of Akira’s dick so hard beneath him and the sensation of those dexterous fingers made him want for a little more. So for just a moment, Minato stopped moving. His hands reached for the bottom of his skirt, so he could tug it upwards, and in doing so, was able to reveal his own vulnerability to Akira as well. Fully erect, nearly busting out of his panties, he let Akira see that he was willing and wanting for this strange and sudden intimacy as well. In response, Akira’s gaze was hazy from the pleasures of the friction Minato was giving him, but no less impressed and attracted to what Minato had to offer. Even before saying a word, Minato could feel the slightest twitch from Akira’s cock beneath him, causing his whole face to flush a bright shade of pink. Akira was completely turned on by him in every respect. How far should they go? How far _could_ they even go? He couldn’t speak for Akira, but this sort of intimacy was a little beyond his expertise, even if he was operating primarily on the instinct of knowing what felt good to him.

So in that position, completely exposed, he asked only one thing in a murmured, breathless tone, “Is... there anything else... you want me to do, Master?”

Overwhelmed as he was, Akira had a response for that. Though it was hard to unfix his gaze from how completely _hot_ Minato was like this; he needed that moment to admire every last bit of it. From how thrilling it was  to see Minato in those lacy panties, bursting at the seams from excitement, to the exposed bit of thighs beneath his skirt, and how his face was completely flushed and flustered—Akira knew that he liked Minato a lot, but his pleasure-induced haze made him wonder if this was love, or just lust; a passing thought that would be forgotten before the night was even through. Minato was doing this for his sake, but it was plainly obvious that he was also enjoying it, and that left Akira wanting more, too.

“Mm, a couple,” A couple of things he could do, and Akira would address those things one-by-one as his natural confidence and swagger slowly replaced the vulnerability and surprise that came with these revelations. He started in the obvious place as he let his fingers trace up Minato’s thigh; his skin was soft and delicate and yet very hot and a little clammy all at once. Inexperienced as he was, Akira didn’t seem to hesitate to cup his palm over Minato’s balls before sliding his hand up further, that desire to feel Minato’s hardness for himself before he progressed further.

“I’ll ease yours too,” It was typical quid pro quo; Akira didn’t know how to operate on the basis of give-and-take. Minato would probably need a lot longer than one night to break him of that habit. Minato gasped a little as Akira tugged at the top band of those panties, tugging them away to reveal even more fully how turned on Minato was by it. For them both, it was hard to say what made this so inviting; Minato had never been interested in cross-dressing, he’d felt incredibly self-conscious like this, but under Akira’s gentle touch, it felt _good_ , and in response, his hips began to cant forward invitingly, encouraging Akira.

Akira did little more with it though, not before hoisting himself upright. It gave him a little space to use a free hand to undo his own pants and shimmy them down to expose himself properly to Minato as well. It was only fair—and besides, if Minato wanted to do something to ease his tension, he wanted it to be closer. Warmer. More intimate, in some way.  As feisty as Akira could be, there were sincere sentiments that existed with him that he wanted to be able to express to Minato.

“Like this,” he murmured, capturing Minato’s mouth in a hot kiss as he pulled that maid dress-clad body into his lap. There were still limitations to be had, given their situation, but Akira found that he enjoyed the friction of Minato rolling his hips better that way. His dick slid past the panties, rubbing against Minato’s ass hotly as his fingers curled around Minato’s cock, hand sliding up and down to provide him with much of the same. Each movement prompted another, each kiss was wetter and sloppier than the last. Somehow, it was equal parts raw and romantic, with the lustful sentiments intermingling with the truly caring ones. It came across with the way their hips moved together, with the way each kiss felt more and more unfocused to them as the pleasures began to coil and rise.

Akira’s inexperience didn’t show very much at all; even though he faltered in his rhythm on more than one occasion, he seemed to own it—the strength of his feelings triumphed over all else, and Minato found himself surprisingly weak to that. It could have been that he was weaker to being with another man than he would have expected, or maybe it was just that the confidence that Akira carried beneath his unassuming exterior was truly a force to be reckoned with. Whatever it was, Minato knew it was getting to him; he could feel the sweat beading at his hairline; his hair was beginning to get matted to his forehead, and his entire body felt like it was on fire in the best way. Akira’s deft hands and the feeling of his dick sliding against his ass was unlike anything else. Though his stamina was usually pretty unflappable, the sensory overload was enough to break Minato this time.

“Mast--” He choked out after he broke one of their sloppy kisses, but Akira didn’t allow for it, crashing their mouths together so hard that their teeth clanged and they both had to recoil just a little. Even still, Akira’s strokes were fairly consistent.

“Akira,” Akira breathed out his own name breathlessly. “Not Master.”

It was obvious Akira was drawing a line in the sand. Even if it was the maid getup that led them to the situation they were in, that wasn’t what he wanted to define the night with. It’s not what he wanted to define any of it with, because to him, it was so much more than that. Even if Minato used the guise of the maid job to try and convey the sentiments, Akira knew that there were true, sincere feelings beneath it all. It was something they both had a penchant for, wasn’t it? They could both read other people and see them for the people they truly were, after all.

“Akira…” Minato breathed out against Akira’s lips. He could feel his mind going blank from the pleasure, heat coiling in his groin intensely. His hips jerked forward; he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. “I’m going—”

That was as much warning as Akira got, though. Minato expression contorted as his fingers dug into Akira’s back; his toes curled as he came to a climax, shooting his load directly into Akira’s hand. It was almost immediate how Minato wanted to crumble right there, body overwhelmed and weak from the sensations, but sheer force of will kept him going, hips rocking against Akira’s dick as his head dipped, burying it tiredly against his neck. It was a lot to take on, though it seemed Akira’s keen awareness offered up a quiet “I’m close too…”

It was hot, after all. Being able to draw that sort of reaction of Minato, he almost burst right then from Minato’s facial expression alone. Feeling that hard erection beneath his fingertips and the sticky, hot wetness of Minato’s cum on his skin—well, it was a little less about the _cum_ so much as the act of getting Minato off by his own hand, but that was exciting enough for Akira. With that image of Minato’s contorted, pleasured expression burned into his retinas, his own climax soon came too, making a mess of Minato and his dress. Equally overwhelmed, and likely more exhausted than he’d been to begin with, Akira wrapped his free arm around Minato’s back, collapsing backward onto the bed. They remained close that way, catching their breaths.

The silence was long, with the two of them tangled up in each other. Eventually, Minato would break that silence with a single question.

“How long?” He wanted to know, of course, how long Akira had felt that way.

Akira, on the other hand, didn’t seem too interested in answering that. Not right now, it seemed. “Long enough to know I don’t regret it.”

“I thought you didn’t live with regrets anyway.”

“I don’t,” He said, quiet and wistful. “But it was worth the wait.”

“...” Minato fell silent, a bit stunned by Akira’s sentimentality. He really did feel strongly; Minato was sure it was far stronger than his own feelings, even if he was able to believe it was because he hadn’t given himself enough time to fully reconcile those feelings yet. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Mm. I was waiting for the right time.”

“The right time?”

Akira let out another quiet hum. “You treated me like a kouhai, or a little brother.  I want to see if your feelings would change by getting to know _me_ better.”

There it was. Almost like a sack of bricks straight to the face were Akira’s true intentions and feelings. It had never been about stealing hearts or wooing him; Akira had simply wanted for Minato to see his heart in an honest way.

“You shouldn’t wear those glasses so often if you don’t need them to see,” Minato’s initial response seemed like something of a non sequitur. Akira honestly didn’t really know what his cool, fashionable and purposeful (for the cause of keeping his fiery gaze masked) glasses had to do with this. It was fine, though, because Minato finished his thought before Akira could question it. “Your eyes. I think they could change anyone’s heart.”

It was a sentiment genuine enough to take Akira by surprise once again, and his only response was to nuzzle his face against Minato’s and hum. One thing was for certain—Akira’s tensions were definitely eased for the time being, and in turn, so were Minato’s.

“With lines like that, I think I should be calling _you_ Master,” Akira said with a quiet laugh, but there was another truth to the situation, and that was the fact that Akira was deflecting his honest sentiments with a joke to lighten things up. And Minato couldn’t really fight that, knowing that the entire situation had been a bit of a sensory overload for them both.

“No,” Minato responded flatly, drawing back enough to give Akira _a look_ before bopping him on the nose gently. “And as Master, you have to take responsibility for the mess.”

There was another long pause, where Minato offered the fakest smile he can muster. “ _Master. ♥”_

Akira may have been the one with the reputation for being a punk and a criminal, but Minato definitely had his moments. Not that he’d let Minato slide so easily, of course.

“I guess I’ll just have to call the service and request you for another hour to get you all _cleaned up_ ,” Akira offered a dangerous smirk. And though he intended on making sure Minato would be presentable by the end of the night? Well, there didn’t seem to be much harm in stealing a few moments for himself.

“Generous, but after I take care of the dress and the sheets, it’s straight to bed with you for sleep.” With another bop to the nose, Minato pushed himself upright. The truth of the matter wasn’t that he really wanted to deny Akira a second round, so much as he realized his own heart wasn’t quite ready for it. Akira was truly a force to be reckoned with, based on how the tables were turned. With a quiet, disappointed groan, Akira pushed himself up as well. “Phantom Thieves have to rest too, Akira.”

And that was all Minato said before he pulled himself off the bed to rummage through Akira’s clothes for something to change into in the interim, though not without considering that maybe in the future, he should keep some spares around—things were likely only going to get more explosive in the future, after all, something they both seemed to now been keenly aware of.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! It's been a long time since I've written anything quite like this. Or anything at all, for that matter, I'm pretty rusty, forgive me! For a little background, this particular verse is a combination of my own interpretation of this rarepair ship, an AU where the events of P3 and P5 are more concurrent so Akira and Minato can easily co-exist, and one where Akira is pretty hopelessly trying to (and slowly succeeding at) wooing Minato. Not a lot about this particular AU is fleshed out, so it's pretty narrow in scope, though I may want to revisit in and do so in the future, who knows. Since this is a bit out of any of my established AUs for this pair, it's drawing on some previous headcanons/interpretations and melding with the art it's based on.
> 
> Of course, it's also inspired by NemiruTami's take on this ship, and a big thanks is owed there for always feeding wonderful art of them and being such an inspiration to actually write!


End file.
